


Stay

by Hirvitank



Series: Comfort songs, gnawed bones [1]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 08:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13971078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hirvitank/pseuds/Hirvitank
Summary: Ficlet written for a prompt on Tumblr; “If I told you to leave, Emily — would you? Would you run?”





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OneWhoTurns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneWhoTurns/gifts).



He’d appeared again, as he often had these past months. He’d lingered long after his use had passed, like a guest overstaying their welcome. It wasn’t that she objected his presence, if anything she welcomed the enigmatic young man that seemed to hold the wisdom of the world on his tongue. But why her? She was an Empress, but surely she was nothing special. Not without her title. 

She wasn’t unlike the other girls that could be found across the Isles, and she supposed most of them would make her look rather dull in comparison. All rough edges had been meticulously smoothed off her, strict formality drilled into her for as long as she remembered — but what was a diamond in comparison to the mysterious geode?

He’d been watching her, as he often did. She’d sit at her desk, scribbling away until her wrist hurt, and then scribbling some more. Official documents, legal matters. All boring things. All things that made her who she was — boring too, she supposed. He rarely spoke during these visits, instead preferring to simply bask in her presence. She couldn’t fathom why. At first she’d been uncomfortable, but as time progressed she’d learned to relax. He wasn’t there to hurt her, she knew.

She sighed, fingers rubbing the skin around her eyes. She was tired. She’d worked well into the wee hours of the morning again, her aching back a testimony of her bad habit. She allowed herself to slump back, if only for a moment, her fingers now massaging her temples. Soon the maids would come, scolding her for her bad schedule before attentively bathing and dressing their Empress. 

She glanced to her side, catching his dark figure framed within the casing of the window — his long legs draped from the sill. He appeared to be gazing off to the outside world, his dark eyes focused on something she couldn’t see. She hesitated, biting her lip as her mind went places she knew shouldn’t be traversed — not by her.

He seemed to catch on to her staring, head turning to meet her gaze. His eyes still black and bruised, lips tinged purple: like a drowned man. Had he drowned? If not in water then perhaps in his own blood. The thoughts pulled at something within her, something weak — like remaining cinders. Something she’d worked hard to repudiate, rescind those sentiments; they bore no purpose in the mind of an Empress. 

He smirked, or was it a smile? She couldn’t tell, his features permanently tainted with bitter lines. A frown that never lifted, creases between dark, shapely brows. He was unconventionally handsome, and he couldn’t be that old. Yet he wore the marks of a life too harsh on his skin — wether he wanted to or not. She knew she did, too.

She’d never wanted what her life had offered. She’d accepted her royal status, if only to honour the memory of her mother. Would she be proud of her now? She’d heard her whispers, cruelly coaxed from a mechanical organ that twitched between her fingers as if alive. 

That wasn’t her mother. Her mother wasn’t made of wilted flesh, or wires, or gears. Her mother was made of memories, of lost smiles, and of the weary gaze of her father. Her father, who she loved, who would scold her for her wanton desires she fought to quash — desires he himself had failed to kill. He had no right to judge her, she knew.

She carried his heart within the cage of her bones, his Serkonan spirit within the flow of her blood. She was a being of passion, lusting for adventure, burning with an internal fire that simmered the sanguine flow within her royally blue veins — subdued only by the loving shadow of her mother. 

She was a collision of opposites, of rounded cheeks framed by a jaw too pronounced, interrupted by a nose too sharp; shaped by a slight twist that could be attributed to her foreign descent. There was a slant to her eyes, and her amber gaze possessed the warmth of her father’s; nothing like the cool, regal blue of her mother.

What would his eyes look like if stripped from their black veil?

She stood, stare still locked with his. He didn’t protest as she approached, her perfectly placed steps balanced by years of training. She knew his gaze tracked her as she moved, his head turning with her body. Dawn was approaching, the early hints of it illustrated by the distant blossoming of light. The sky was painted in pinks and purples, like his skin. She stood before him now, her bosom stuttering with trepidation. He had to lift his head to hold her gaze, her statuesque built emphasised by his seated form.

She peered into those terrible eyes, the impending daybreak illuminated them just enough for her to find that they were not exclusively black. If she looked hard enough, she could distinguish the borders of his irises and the pits of his pupils — which seemed to further fuel the thrilling fear within her bones. He had human eyes, blackened by paint.

She tried to imagine what life might look like beneath his skin, the flow of blood that would warm his tone — flush his complexion. She wondered what he felt like, shortly. Would she pass right through him? Curiosity dared her, edged her on to act on her unbidden impulses. She felt drawn towards him, she always had. Finding herself stranded in the Void, instead of Meagan's ship, had filled her with a sense of exaltation she had profusely denied with her entire being.

She reached out, her fingers tracing the edges of those intriguing features, surprised to find him solid. His body remained unmoving, frozen in time; ageless. His skin felt cold beneath her tips, instilling a chill within her limbs that couldn’t be attributed to the sensation of his dead skin alone. He thrummed with magic, the sizzle of it responsible for his moving tendons, his blinking eyes. He didn’t breathe, instead an unsettling stillness emanated from his entire being.

He moved, then, his lips parted almost as if by gravity alone. “If I told you to leave, Emily — would you?” His words spoken more like a dare than a question, his voice fractured by the conflicting dimensions he inhabited.

She stilled, briefly, her fingertips remaining on his skin — kept there by a magnetising pull. “No,” she whispered, a challenge.

He cocked his head at the admission, his eyes studying her features; she could see them move clearly now, catching the subtle widening of his pupils the longer she remained. She responded instinctively, her fingertips sliding across his skin as her palms came to rest against his cheeks, cupping them — before moving down to his jawline, his neck, the rough trace of stubble scratching against her delicate hands; she revelled in the feel of him, in the exploration of this mysterious creature before her. She lowered herself to the same sill he rested on, joining him on the narrow space. His head moved with her, her hands still firmly in place — afraid to break away lest he might dissolve instantly.

She could feel the pressure of his legs where they bumped against hers, aware no warmth came forth from the dangling limbs. He never tried to break from her hold, his curious gaze unabashedly focused on her; as if she were the most interesting thing in the world — and she was certain if subjected to his stare long enough, she might come to agree.

“Would you run…” there was a trace of hunger in his fragmented tone, his painted eyes darting across her face, to her lips, “if I told you I find myself incapable of leaving?”

Her breath hitched in her chest, and her lips parted to allow entry to a soft, short gasp. “No,” she breathed.

He moved, a hand rising to caress her flushed cheek, his brows pinching together, and his gaze filled with a distant, tortured look. She realised she was becoming increasingly parched, a thirst she knew begged to be quenched only by her forbidden desires. Her eyes were drawn to his lips, to those drowned curves stained purple. Would they still dip beneath the press of skin? She felt her tongue dart out, wetting her own in anticipation. Would he accept her, a girl amongst many others, an Empress not unlike the ones before her?

“Emily…” he sighed, the sound vibrated against the skin of her palms. He sounded so weary then, like a tired worker returning home at last. It was all she needed, the final push that sent her over the edge and plunged her into the titillating pit of her impermissible longing. In the back of her mind she could imagine her mother’s demurral, her father’s dismay — but now was neither the time for thinking, nor for insecurities questioning her worth as a daughter or the quality of her personality.

Her lips touched his with mindful prudence; the feel of his cool, pliable skin beneath hers terrifyingly intoxicating. He didn’t move, his form gone rigid, his raised hand still floated in the space where her cheek had been. She took a shuddering breath, tasting him on her tongue: like saltwater. The thrum of magic purred against her skin, stunning her senses. 

She closed her eyes, and pressed down harder, more insistent, the hands that had rested against the nape of his neck now trailed his bony back, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. He stiffened, fleetingly, before breaking, his cold arms rising to envelop her waist, fingers curling into the fabric of her robes.

She felt him pull hesitantly in response to her push, a dance of opposites. He seemed shy, almost, as if he didn’t quite know what to do or how to move. She helped, her lips moulding against his confidently. He responded in turn, slowly relaxing in her hold, his movements growing bolder at her ministrations. 

Her tongue darted out between her lips, licking his as she revelled in the unique taste of him. He moaned in response, momentarily leaving her lips before his mouth crashed back against hers as would the churning waves against an unmovable coast. His teeth grazed her heated skin — he consumed her, ravished the burning shape of her, their bodies exchanging temperature.

She pulled back, gasping for air, sure she might drown otherwise. She was left panting, unlike him; his still chest a strange reminder of his surreal existence. He watched her, dark eyes unfocused and hungry, lips parted still. He was beautiful, the blueish undertone of his skin — unable to redden or flush — reminded her of the endless sky, of the quiet parts of the Void where water streamed against the dimensions of space and time.

She found herself smiling, her heart swelling at the young man before her. The Outsider who had the entire world within the palm of his hand, yet looked at her as if  _she_  — another dull monarch from a lineage he’d seen born, and probably would see die — was his world.

Leaning down, she whispered against his lips, warmed by the touch of her own, “I’d ask you to stay.”


End file.
